A Werewolf Blog in Brooklyn

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December 12, 2012

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A Wolf’s tail

November 30, 2010

I knock on the front door of a house, I haven’t been to in a long time. The door opens to reveal Conall Wakely, in a unbuttoned shirt, with wet hair and jeans on.

My ex, boyfriend. Never thought I’d be back here. But Conall and me, we’ve been in each other’s lives for so long now, seems slightly inevitable. Unbreakable, even.

“Well now, look who came back to me.” He says with a half smile back at me as his eyes drop and he looks me over, approvingly. I sigh and move, crossing my arms.

“Small world.” I reply trying not to take in the sight of his naked chest exposed by the loose shirt flapping around with the movement of him. “Werewolves tend to stick close to what they know.”

“So what is this then? You want to fuck around on the side, is that it? Is that why Booker was all over your ass the other night?” He asks turning around and walking back into his house. Leaving the front door open.

I sigh and walk through, following him. That’s about as nice an invitation to coming in, as I’m going to get. Considering I’m not exactly welcome.

Somewhere in that brain of his, Conall still sees me as his. I have no fucking idea why other than he’s jealous of Paris, being an Alpha werewolf, taking up position in my life with me.

“He wasn’t all over me.” I shake my head. Can’t believe I’m getting into a stupid fight with him. Some things never change. He knows how to insult me, sufficiently. How to be immaturely jealous. How to be pissy.

“I can’t believe you’d let a Lycan touch you, rather than me.” He says walking into the kitchen. “I mean, come on. We’re bruised together, I can see that, but a Lycan?” He says sticking his head in the fridge and pulling out two bottles of water and throwing one at me. “Why the hell would you let one of them, into your skin. I mean, don’t get me wrong, Booker is…”

“This isn’t about fucking.” I mutter angrily, catching the bottle of water. “And there was no groping, or fucking going on. I gather you don’t know why he was with me then the other night. That you don’t know why I’m house detained to Brooklyn for the time being?”

Conall straightens up and looks at me as he uncaps the water.

“No. Thought you’d finally seen the light and ditched the Alpha himbo. Was getting into the groove again on the south side. So, what’s it about then, if you haven’t come here to tell me you’ve ditched him, and come back to me?”

“Jesus, Conall, swallow your pride and say ‘his’ name. Paris. I’m still very much with him, thank you. This isn’t about us.” I look at my water bottle.

“But you’re not in Manhattan with Paris, and he’s not in Brooklyn with you, and you’re standing in your last boyfriend’s house with him, so what gives?”

“It’s about restoring me. It’s about being a Breukelen.” I say watching his face closely as he seems to guage my words and their conviction.

I just don’t throw my pack name around or the reputation behind it, the meaning associated with it, easily. None of us Breukelen werewolves do.

“So it’s about pack business?” He asks me seeking clarity. “Does this have something to do with Vargr, cause I was thinking about that dude and…”

“No. It’s far more personal than that. And so far up you’re alley, it’s like a natural ability for you. That’s why I need your help executing this.”

I put the bottle down on the kitchen bench top near by, watching as Conall downs a mouthful of water quickly. He wipes his mouth and smiles back at me.

“This does not mean we’re” I say waving a hand between us “Getting back together again.”

I don’t know why I’m saying this, I can practically see how it falls on deaf ears as Conall’s mouth tweaks into a smile. He thinks it means, exactly that. Like I’m speaking backwards girl code for what I really want from him.


He smirks at me. “Welcome to the beginning again,”

“More like end.” I fire at him.

“We do love to chase ourselves in circles. Chasing our own tails hey? I knew I was good for something, to you. Had something, Paris couldn’t offer you. Glad to see you come round to that way of thinking. So now,” He says leaning a hand on the bench top.

“What can I do for you babe, that your packmate can’t?”

Being Good

November 18, 2010

Who’s brainy idea was it again to have me kept under protective guard on a lunar week, by hot looking wolves in Brooklyn?

Oh yeah, my over protective, well meaning sister, Bodil. That’s why I’m in a nightclub with Booker Parish, dancing like we’re in the streets of South America. New rules in my life to be adhered to until further notice, must have (hot) body guards by my side twenty four seven. Must be an Alpha werewolf or a fighter. Imitators and lesser wolves will not be excepted. Booker, next to my sister, is our best warrior wolf.

Sweating up a river, with our clothes sticking to our skin, like it’s a second layer of it. I haven’t been out in what feels like forever. I’m not used to being house bound. So I’m reveling in the chance to move, to interact, to be engulfed in heat, drowned in communal lust and want.

Lunar week and it’s all fun, fun, fun. Forget your troubles and dance your nights away, the werewolves have come out to play. Especially me. I haven’t heard from Paris since I asked him to take me home. Maybe he and the boys are doing a bit of pack policing, finding Gabby, or something. I don’t know and right now, I gotta say, I don’t care, about that, about Gabby or any of them Maen wolves.

Brooklyn is where it is at.

Heart beats are pumping steadily, as it trying to match the beats of the music coating us dancers in. I can’t believe I’m actually smiling as Booker sides up behind me, and I dance, my back against his front, my hips moving from side to side as my short white skirt, swishes around. My arms are raised in the air, as I look back over my shoulder at the large, solid wall of male Lycan wolf, behind me. His black t-shirt is clinging to his chest, defining it’s grooves and ridges for me.

I swear Booker’s grinning. Nice to see. That boy rarely smiles.
But I feel his smile, his assurance in my safety, with him, literally having my back. Booker might be one of my sister’s best friends and fighters, but he’s something else to me entirely.

Booker and I have history.

So who’s brainy idea was it again to have me kept under protective guard on a lunar week, by a hot looking Booker Parish in Brooklyn? Who cares.

I haven’t felt so liberated in days. Booker gets that, he gets me. I think he’s got more patience and time for me, than the other body guards assigned to their menial detail of protecting the youngest female werewolf from the leading Breukelen Alpha’s family.

My hair is thick with heat and sweat, and it’s hanging heavily down my neck as I gather it up and lift it off my neck, I feel him move slightly behind me and see him, lean forward I think it’s to blow cool air on the base of my neck. But instead he leans towards my ear.

“You want to get some fresh air?”

Do I?
Do I!

Problem is, if I literally go outside for “fresh air” and feel the night time and moonlight caress my skin. Then “do I wanna what”, is going to just jump me, like you wouldn’t believe. I’m one of those sadistic werewolves who likes to test themselves during lunar week, by playing little games with their own bodies desire, so that the end result, of getting what you want, is ten times better. Problem, I only play those sexy little mind and body fuck games with my pack mate. Like my absent packmate, Paris, a friend of Booker’s too.

“Nah, I’m good.” I reply still dancing and letting my heavy hair drop down out of my hands.

“Is that what you call this?” He murmurs with a chuckle, before straightening up. I turn around to face him, putting a little distance between us. “Being good?”

“What would you call it?” I grin at him, still dancing in my heels.

An eyebrow arches up and he smiles shaking his head. “To be continued.” He states looking past me and pointing out the appearance of Conall Wakely walking through Disco and Rhyme. Conall’s eyes scan the crowd, and land on me. His eyes flick over at Booker standing before me, now completely still and staring hard back at Conall. Booker and I are drenched in sweat. We look like we’ve been hosed down in water. Or come straight from a pool party or something. Are clothes are sticking to us like we’ve been swimming in them.

Others around us are peeling off layers of clothing, or near naked dancing around us. See, we are being good. Conall scowls at us and throws his arm around a pretty, petite wolf’s shoulders suddenly.

“Come on, let’s get a drink at the other bar.” I grab his hand and lead Booker off the dance floor as Conall and he continue to stare it out, as we head out to the outside bar. The furthest away from Conall and his entourage. I don’t want to think about him, at all. I don’t want this night ruined. Because it’s like being given a gift, after being cooped up at my family house for days on end in lock down mode.

Booker holds the door open for me as we step outside, and the cooler night air hits me instantly and I tilt my head up and grin at the moon, closing my eyes. My neck exposed underneath as my heavy hair, drops off my back and hangs behind me. I sigh softly. I’m welcome under the moon’s embrace.

“Being good, being good.” I hear Booker mutter behind me, as he holds the doorway open and I open my eyes again, glancing back at him, before we head over to the bar.

Een Draght Mackt Maght

November 6, 2010
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Een Draght Mackt Maght
In Unity there is strength, this is the motto of Brooklyn.
In Unity there is strength, in the borough of Brooklyn.

Altijd Breukelen, is the Breukelen werewolf pack motto. It means “always a Breukelen werewolf.” It’s a saying we all take very seriously. It’s the saying that I repeat to myself as the four Alpha males of the Manhattan Maen werewolf pack try to flush my system, pump my stomach and keep the pain of silver that’s filtered through me, to a bare minimum.

Een Draght Mackt Maght
In unity there is strength, this is the motto of Brooklyn.
In unity there is strength, in the borough of Brooklyn.
I will get to Brooklyn.

I will be strong.

I’m conscious and aware as my body thrashes under the restraints around my wrists and legs as they draw out the silver I’ve been poisoned with. My body can handle a little bit of it. That is to say, a tiny amount of it, will make me sick, but that’s about it. More than the tiniest amount and you get problems, complications. Like loosing the ability to shape shift. Like feeling like your insides are burning and bubbling you up like a blood stew. Stripping you of your muscular lining, melting your bones.

Een Draght Mackt Maght
In unity there is strength, this is the motto of Brooklyn.
Altijd Breukelen
Always a Breukelen, this is the motto of my pack

I grit my teeth tightly, clamping them down so hard on the plastic tube down my throat that I think I’m going to snap right through it. Someone’s trying to tell me to relax, not to fight it. I should tell them to go through this, and see how they do. I was force fed silver in liquid form. And I was unconscious at the time, so I didn’t even feel it course through my body, until it was too late and I woke up.

Een Draght Mackt Maght
In unity there is strength, this is the motto of Brooklyn.
In unity there is strength, in the borough of Brooklyn.
Altijd Breukelen
I am always a Breukelen. I am a strong Breukelen.
I will get to Brooklyn. I will be safe there.

I was left poisoned, alone and bleeding.

Een Draght Mackt Maght

It’s a creed the Breukelen werewolves live by and believe, whole heartedly in. So when there is an attack made against our pack, we do not panic, scatter and go to ground. We unify and strengthen our resolve and resistance. We face our attacker, head on and we protect our own. We are pack. We are werewolves.

I will be protected. I am pack.
Een Draght Mackt Maght

Addison, Jules, Wiatt and Paris are trying to help me. I know that. Because my body is weak from injuries. I’ve lost some blood. I think they got to me before it got to critical stage. But the silver coursing through me, is hampering mine and their efforts to make me better. To heal me. I can not shape shift because of it. They have all tried, as one, to bring on my shape shift also, to no avail.

In unity there is strength
My body convulses upwards and my eyes roll back.
This is the motto of Brooklyn

The four Alpha werewolves around me, are trying to help me. They are united to saving me.
Altijd Breukelen
In getting me through this. They believe in me. They want me to live.
In Unity there is strength

An attack on our pack, doesn’t necessarily mean everyone in it. It means, specific people in it as well as the werewolf pack as a whole. This attack was about as personal as it gets, it was on me, but it was done to harm both Paris and me. His pack and mine.

I will get to Brooklyn.

And an attack, is usually defined as something more harmful than just a fist fight. But those too have been known to start all out territory turf wars amongst rival werewolf packs. Not that the Breukelen pack are rivals of the Maen. No, if we have any rivals at all, it is the Braganza pack.

In unity there is strength. I will get to Brooklyn. I will be saved there.

Of course, being a pack werewolf does not mean we can’t have our own individual, personal problems and enemies.

Altijd Breukelen

Gabby from the Manhattan Maen, is my problem, and I am her enemy.
But she made a big mistake in doing this to me.

I am a Breukelen.

Welcome to Brooklyn, now you’re dead.

June 17, 2010
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So what are you when you don’t know what you are? Lost?

Vargr, didn’t strike me as someone who was lost. A petty criminal and a shape shifter, he definitely was. But after his run in with me, back in 2009 when he robbed me of my belongings on the streets of Brooklyn, he became something else. All because I bit him. I don’t know if anyone’s every done studies on what a werewolf bite can do. When I bit Vargr, I was in human form, had very human teeth, that had all the powerful force of a werewolf’s bite and strength. I bit through his skin, till I hit bone. His collar bone. I bit so hard, I chipped my tooth.

Non’s just can’t do that. It might sound simple and easy, but muscle is tough, sinew is tougher. Breaking skin is easy, getting past the broken skin, sinking into someone’s bone, that’s actually harder than you’d believe. Of course, not to a werewolf like me. It’s kind of like forgetting your own strength and all that.

I let his words sink in, with the maniacal expression building on his face.

“I’m a, what those native indians call a shape shifter, I looked it up.”

Vargr was a shape shifter. Thanks to me? I frowned heavily. How did that even begin to work? I don’t really know how shape shifter become what they are. I don’t really know that much about their kind at all. But I am like ninety nine percent certain, you don’t become a shape shifter from a werewolf bite. If anything, he should have become a lycan.

My bite did something to him. Maybe, I infected a shape shifter with lycanthropy. Like he didn’t know he was a shape shifter or something and then I bit him and it activated it or messed things up in him? How is that even possible?

I glanced at Conall, ever ready to pounce on this guy, should he make a wrong move. What had I done to this petty criminal? Had I made a bad person, worse?

“How?”I asked him, because the question had to be asked. I had to know. I didn’t just walk through a cemetery for no reason, and not to confront Vargr. I hadn’t worried about this guy for a whole year, because I didn’t have reason to. I wanted an answer.

He shrugged his shoulders. “After you bit me. I become different.” He said cryptically.

“How different?”

He smiled with a cat’s got the canary kind of smile. Like he knew something I don’t know which should seem so obvious to me, if only I damn well knew what it was.

“You freed me.”

A chill ran over my body.

Freedom usually sounds like a good thing. Something to celebrate and enjoy. Only this was a criminal, an from what I could tell, he rather enjoyed being a criminal. Which didn’t make him the nicest person on the planet according to my judgment scale.

He moved away from me and started gathering up his stash pile of stolen items, shoving the small bits of jewellery and wallets into the larger handbags, he’d stolen from people.

Freedom to a werewolf was open spaces, and running and roaming without fear of anything being after them. It was the moonlight coursing through our veins when we were in tribal form on a lunar week. It was…

Moonlight. The moon. The lunar cycle. Lunar week. I kept jumping my thoughts along, trying to piece it together with what I knew, as Vargr seemed to pack up his stuff.

Shape shifters are bound by moonlight. At least, I’m pretty sure they are, I’ve only ever seen shape shifters change form on a lunar week. As far as I was aware, that’s the only time they can. Where as werewolves can change form at any time but have to shift on a full moon night.

“So, how does the whole, changing shape thing work anyway?” I asked curiously.

Vargr shoved his stash into a large duffel bag. “I don’t know lady and if I did know, I sure as hell wouldn’t be telling no werewolf about it.”

“Why not?” Conall asked, beside me.

“When you’ve been on the streets as long as I have, and you do what I do for a living, you learn to have some street smarts about you. You’re the first two werewolves I’ve ever met, but I’ve heard about your type before. Plenty of times. I ain’t stupid.”

“Well, you’re something alright, wandering into werewolf territory, twice now, attacking me once, stealing my stuff.”

Vargr straightened up, hoisting his duffel bag onto his shoulder quickly.

“The crypt’s all yours. I got other places I can crash.”

Both Conall and I stepped in front of him, blocking the entrance of the crypt. So there was no way out.

“You don’t want to do that.” He said at me, his voice getting deeper. Did he think he was testing me? Frightening me? Going to intimidate me, a werewolf, into backing down? Oh he really didn’t know werewolves that well. I won’t back down for anyone. Let alone a shape shifter.

“Oh yes, I do.” I replied, letting my growl come through in my voice. Vargr flinched, taking a step backwards. What an amateur. He really had no idea about messing with werewolves or playing the card he’d been dealt. He sighed heavily and started sliding the duffel bag off his shoulder. Then he threw the bag out at us, slamming into Conall and trying to shoulder past me. Conall swatted the bag aside and moved to grab him.

I’d half been expecting him to pull out his knife on me again. I was beginning to dislike Vargr, a lot. I barely fell off balance as I growled and grabbed him first, throwing him back into the marble centre piece in the crypt. Causing him to bounce off it, grabbing his ribs. I heard something pop inside him.

“Welcome to Brooklyn.” I muttered as both Conall and I strode towards him. “Now you’re dead. For the crime of pissing me off.”

“Okay, okay, you want to know?” He winced holding his arms up in a defensive position, like he thought he was going to get hit. He sounded winded. Conall and I stood over him. What a whimp. I felt my wolf start to get restless. Whimps are weaklings and weaklings are prey, to a werewolf. Vargr seemed like slim pickings made easy.

“I can become animals, at any time. That’s it, I swear, after you bit me, I could just do it. It’s handy, It helps me get into houses easier, people have those pet flap door things, I just change into a dog or a cat and wander in, whenever I need the cash, I grab their stuff and leave.”

Vargr sounded like a stupid criminal if you ask me. Especially since it clearly didn’t occur to him to shape shift to fight either Conall or I.

“Versipellis.” Conall muttered lightly. Vargr looked over at him.


Versipellis, the word rang around in my head. I’m sure one of the pack elders had told me the story of Versipellis before. Basically it translated to a shape shifter not bound by the usual limitations. They weren’t controlled by the lunar cycle and they didn’t neccessarily respond to the moon. The story I’d been told, made Versipellis sound like a trickester bogey man. Scary and troublesome. Of course, being told as a child, probably meant, a lot of things sound scary.

So I’d created a bogey man? Shape shifting had to have advantages. But I doubt Vargr knew that and I wasn’t about to let on. He clearly didn’t get the gift he’d been given or know how he’d gotten the way he was. He’d choosen to be criminal and now, he’d choosen to come back into my home. Brooklyn.

Conall clamped down again and continued to glare down at him. Vargr looked over to me desperately. He was literally backed into a corner. How utterly pathetic, my wolf was getting far too excited about how easy it would be to hurt him. I could feel the urge for blood lust coming on. It would be so easy for both Conall and I to take this douche bag out of existance. For god sakes, we were in a cemetary. Who’d look there for a freshly dead kill?

But I knew it was wrong. So I fought the wolf’s urges down.

“I should thank you for what you did for me.” Vargr stammered out quickly, still gasping slightly from his rib injury.

I shook my head and fought the urge to slap him senseless. I hated myself even more for having ever bit this scumbag. But maybe it wasn’t my doing, the Versipellis thing. Maybe that was a myth. A story told to children to keep their curosities and manners in line. Maybe Vargr had always been a shape shifter and never known how to activate that part of himself. Maybe it was all just a horrible coincedence.

Turning my back on him, indicating to Conall I was ready to get out of there. We moved towards the entrance.

“Get out!” I spat at him over my shoulder. “Tonight! Don’t ever show your face in Brooklyn again. If I hear about you robbing anyone in Brooklyn, I will see to it that you’re shredded out of your skin till you’re bled dry, and cut into pet food pieces.”

We walked out of the crypt.
Me leaving Vargr behind me, for good.

Zine #1

June 8, 2010
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So you want to know a little something about this werewolf from Brooklyn, New York – me?
Download Zine 1 for your own free copy of A Werewolf Blog In Brooklyn.

Back in Brooklyn

May 23, 2010
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I find myself back in Brooklyn and alone. Well not alone, just you know, flying solo. I haven’t been solo on a lunar week in well…a long time.

I’ve always been with a guy, had company.

So why aren’t I with the hottest werewolf Alpha this side of the planet on lunar week?

Because we’re fighting. Well, it’s not really fighting when you refuse to take his calls or return them. When you’re being totally immature and giving your boyfriend the silent treatment. It’s just, I’m mad. Still. Paris wouldn’t let me finish what I started. He wouldn’t let me go after the Lycan hunter who I got into a fight with. The one that once upon a time, long long ago, hunted me down when I was becoming a werewolf, coming into my own, for the first time in my supernatural life.

Paris has rang me a lot and I’ve just been letting the calls go to voicemail.

So I’m back in Brooklyn, and in a club. Now All I can keep thinking is everything seems insignificant. When all I keep thinking about is the opportunity to get even with the Lycan that hurt me. How my chance slipped through my very human hands before I could claw at her skin with rage.

How Paris’s lieutenants pulled me out of harms way and pursued her for me. Fought for me when I’d rather do my own fighting.

The clubs are the same as always, there are werewolves everywhere, creating an atmosphere of heated lust and wanton pleasure in the air. It’s hot all around and everyone in there looks good, whether they’re wearing clothes or missing some. It’s hard to ignore the lust sensation when it’s created so highly by a pack in joy, like this.

I’m beginning to wonder what the hell I’m doing out here. I mean, the watching part is alright, but really as the sweat trickles down the back of my neck, and I lift my dark hair, all I can think is, I’d rather be with my wolf.

Maybe it’s time to talk. Time to get over my self pride. I mean, Paris and his friends were trying to do a good thing. They didn’t want me hurt, and in return all I’ve done his hurt them by being a stubbornly proud wolf.

“And here I thought you’d given up the club scene, at least here in Brooklyn.” an all too familiar voice says as a body sits down on the couch next to me. I take my eyes of the crowded dance floor and glance at Conall Wakely. My ex boyfriend before looking back out again.

Sighing loudly I choose to ignore his presence.

“What’s a matter?” He asks me softly, actually sounding concerned for a moment. I looked at him again, actually look at him. Wondering if he’s sincere. Noticing everything about his face.

“Why would anything be the matter?”

“Please, I was with you for a long time. I know you. I know when you’re not happy and this is you not happy. Besides, you’re not here with your…with anyone. And you’re in Brooklyn, lately you’ve been you know, manhattaning it.”

I watched his face as he talked to me. He seemed so sincere and yet, I felt myself get on the defensive because after all this time, he still won’t say Paris’s name, won’t say he’s my boyfriend. Won’t say, because he’s the guy that Conall lost me too. The anger might be subdued but the pride is still there from the wound I left with him.

I decide to ignore him, watching the dancers on the floor writhe and move like they were one with the music pumping around them. I hear Conall sigh as he throws an arm around the back of the couch, which effectively means, it’s around the back of my shoulders too. Ever the player.

Of course he would be so bold. Take my silence as compliance that I was comfortable with him, again.
I wasn’t. But Conall likes to push, to be macho, to do whatever Conall likes to do. He’s kind of selfish like that.

“Since you’re back here, why don’t I remind you of some simple Brooklyn hospitality?” He asks me, with a cheeky smile as he signals a friend for a round of drinks with a hand gesture.

I shake my head. He is unbelievable. But then he’s always been a bold wolf. Likes to go headfirst into things. Damn the consequences.

“I’m fine Conall.”

He holds my gaze. And the music thrums through my veins and I remember past times in the darkness of clubs with him. I can’t help but let my mouth quirk back into a smile. Sneaky memories.

“I know that.” He mutters in a low thick voice. His eyes dipping over my body and back up to my face.

I might be stupid sometimes, like now, being to proud to speak to Paris about how mad I am about the whole Lycan fighting werewolf mess up. Even more mad when I found out that Jules had somehow lost the lycan from his grasp. Stupid male. Stupid men! Never do a woman’s work! That was the straw that broke my back, made me come back and hang out in Brooklyn again. Also known as having a hissy fit and running away for some breathing space.

I might suffer moments of stupidity, as I’m clearly demonstrating, but I’m not naive.
Not anymore.

Conall might think he knows me, but I was with him for a long time too. I know him very well.

Conall thinks he’s got a shot here.

With me.

Brooklyn’s own

April 24, 2010
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Okay people you need to give it up for Ashely Graham.

She’s one of Brooklyn’s own and she’s a rather hot stunner.

If this Lane Bryant television commercial that the ABC network have banned is anything to go by.

Clearly ABC need to get their head out of their size zero ass and diversify and loosen up a little.

Move with the times ABC, its a big new world out here and Brooklyn’s got it all going on and really, you should want a piece of that pie. It’s a happening time in Brooklyn if you’ve got the state of mind to experience it.

Now I might understand you would want to ban the ad if say, Ashley suddenly went furry and started howling around the tv screen, busting out of her beautiful underwear. I can see how that might be a bit much for people to take in. And are maybe not that ready for a werewolf lingerie model. But that’s not the case with this ad.(your suddenly making me to want to make a very photographic point in case here…of what you see isn’t everything you think it is. But I refrain. – my camera battery is dead.)

Besides, if there were a werewolf lingerie model, she wouldn’t be just loosing control of herself and suddenly shape shifting without any warning or chance to get her self together. We’re far more in control of ourselves than that. So it’s not like you would see claws and fur and then wolf-girl in tattered lace lingerie.

However, why the sudden uproar over this, well, rather tame ad?

The ad is tastefully cheeky and fun, and the model is stunning and wearing more clothes than most lingerie models do on such ads, without being a overly suggestive slut like said other lingerie models.

Go Ashley, you go girl!

Nature of the Werewolf

April 15, 2010

So this whole thing with the Gowanus Canal Superfund, got me thinking about whether werewolves are environmentalist as such.

Because let’s face it, environment, is important.

It kind of comes back to the nature or nature side of things, that shape your life. And being anything other than 100% human, well that got to have some sort of impact on your being right? I mean, does it make you what you are because you’re not 100% human, because things were different when your lineage came to town?

Our environment could be why the werewolf lineage has a declining birth rate. There’s probably a fair bit more to it than that, but that could be a good starting point for studying on why today’s, modern werewolves are breeding out, it would seem, more and more.

And do you really want to be left with lycans as a result of starved companionship or have an inability to repopulate, find others that are the same as the werewolf?

Whether your environment is green and leafy, a polluted waterway, or a concrete jungle, there would have to be factors, daily interactions, that not only shape our personalities, and wolf culture, but that also play a part on the physiology of the werewolf too. I mean back in the 1600’s, was pollution this bad?

The European packs, had different factors to our ones today. They were living far more in secret than today’s werewolves and were constantly under threat, hunted, all the time. With the intent of extinction, nothing less.

Hence the mass exodus to the land of New Amsterdam aka New York. Over time it became a concrete jungle, where the persecuted hunted packs, had to restart their lives again. In a foreign environment, with all new, surroundings that they had to adapt their werewolf nature too, in an ever changing world. So they adapted too. They changed the behavior pattern, and living habits of their packs, to accommodate them in the new world.

It’s how the werewolves ended up in nightclubs on lunar weeks, rather than roaming the streets wildly, attacking people at random. Granted, not all werewolves adhere to this lifestyle, not all want to. Hence, why lycans exist. I can only think of three kinds of extreme landscapes that you’d probably be hard pressed to find a werewolf in. Ice, ocean water and nothing but, and outer space.

I’m sure there are dessert werewolves, werewolves in the tropics as well as everyday neighborhoods. So you change one thing in our culture, and the whole culture changes, and over time, as the culture changes, and bounces with the impacts of the environment its been placed in, the werewolf changes too.

I mean, I’m sure there are english werewolf packs, that don’t go out roaming the misty moors of nowhere land like in the Wolfman movie, anymore. But once long ago, they probably did. But it’s unlikely to be the way of the new generation now. We become our own person, our own generation at some point in history.

So yes, I think werewolves are environmentalists at least in the most basic sense of the word. Environment is important to us. Whether it’s a countryside or cityscape, like Brooklyn. It matters where we are, to become who we are.

It definitely helps shape us and our views of life and the world.


March 25, 2010

Lunar week usually means for once in our furry lives (Ha) that us werewolves know exactly our place, in the scheme of things.

We understand what will happen to us as the moon goes through it’s monthly phases of the week. We know what to expect. We do not feel alone, or left out, or a freak. We are amongst the many, rather than the few. At least, it feels that way. The feeling of unity and of something positive is free flowing. It’s like being given your own bit of guaranteed happiness for a week.

That is of course, unless, the routine of this momentum and time is interrupted, corrupted and wrecked by outside circumstances or beings who would prey upon our time to indulge in a little bit of life.

Or of course, if you have a painful ex boyfriend who just won’t leave you be for whatever demented reasons he carries around in his head.

I was on my way out, heading over to Paris’s place when Conall pulled up beside me in the street, in his truck and asked if I wanted I lift somewhere. Stupid me, for a nano second I thought he was being polite, civilized, you know, like a person to me. I’m beginning to wonder if we’ll ever be able to be ‘friends’ again. Maybe being friends is overrated anyway.

“Thanks, but I’m going a little further than you’re hood.”

He was bent slightly forward, looking back through the passenger window at me.
“The Empire State is still a part of New York you know.” He replied back at me.

Why was he being persistent ? Or was he just being nice? Or was that an insult?
God, he does my head in.

“I was aware of that. Thanks all the same for the info.” I replied with a smile and straightened up again. I didn’t want to get into whatever it was I was imagining we might be getting into by the sidewalk. I started to walk off again.

Werewolves and their sense of territory, doesn’t just extend to landscapes and still life property. That’s when I heard the car door slam, but he kept the truck engine running, and jogged around the front of the truck to me.

So stupid. I stopped when he got to me. Don’t know what I was expecting. Don’t know what the hell was going on. Don’t want to know what’s going on in that head of his, I could never get a handle on it when we were together. So what hope is there now?

“You know, you don’t have to avoid all of Brooklyn these days, just because I live here.”

Oh goody. He was looking for a fight. Yay me.

“I’m not.” I replied keeping eye contact with him.
He nodded his scruffy head up and down.
“You sure about that? Lunar week’s almost here and you’re doing what? You’re regular avoidance dance to Manhattan, to him.”

I sighed.
I was never very good at fighting Conall. It always made me tired.

“What are you like spying on me now?” He didn’t answer but he did look away briefly. Is that guilt by omission? “You know, when you’re actually able to say his name, then I’ll believe you’ve gotten through the anger and we can talk again.”

I turned and walked off on him quickly. Territorial alright.

Conall always saw me as his property, as his toy. Discarded me more often then not, but whenever anyone else showed interest, Conall would suddenly go uber-wolf n them and give them a lesson in backing down and away from what he saw as his – me. Same old werewolf. Not that I ever expected him to change. It’s kind of like he has some major Alpha traits, for a beta wolf. Like being incredibly fucking stubborn!

Werewolves believe strongly in territory. This thought of behavior goes something like, territory is shown as strength and power to your peers and as achievement to your enemies. However, in the case of Conall and I, I don’t really think he ever looked on me as some sort of powerful person, or even possession. He probably never once thought about losing me until I finally broke up with him. And I highly doubt that any of his so called friends are giving him grief over our break-up, or that his enemies, are even taunting him about going after me.

So I can’t figure out what the hell he wants with me, if this isn’t the case. Other than he feels slighted, insulted, because a werewolf of higher ranking in pack position – Paris, and in fact in a larger pack – The Manhattan Maen, (which most wolves will agree they see as more powerful because of numbers alone) has personally begrudged him. Insulted Conall, because he (Paris) got me.


It’s seriously too much. I don’t know what I’m supposed to go on when the guy won’t speak to me honestly. Just angrily with innuendos and taunts.

I heard the car start up and watched him speed off past me and that was that.
Brooklyn is definitely werewolf territory, just got to know how to navigate the mind fields of it’s males.

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